Tales of an Exile
by redtrouble
Summary: Mostly revolving around her relationship with Atton Rand, this collection of stories peers into the mind and relationships of the LSF Exile, Khara Saar, who openly claims, "I am no longer a Jedi."
1. I Am Not A Jedi

**I Am Not A Jedi**

The lighting was dim in the hallways, but up ahead was a glare of brightness. Mining droids rigidly patrolled back and forth across the door. Her bare feet drifted slowly over the cold, steel tread floor, each silent step followed by another. Kolto dripped noiselessly from her limbs and hair. Her entire body was wet from the bath she had woken from, but the adrenaline pumping through her kept her from freezing. She side-stepped closer to the communications hub and tucked herself into a dark corner. Though her breaths were deep, they were soundless. Carefully, she peered around the corner and counted three droids in her sightline. There would be others.

She ducked back around the corner and closed her eyes, focused on the energy in the room. It had been so long since she had sought to see through the Force that it had ceased to be instinct. The buzzing presences of more mechanical creatures filled up her senses and she counted four more droids that she could not see before. She opened her eyes. Her body was shaking from touching the Force again after so long. The moment Kreia had opened her up to it, she had been unable to fully stop her trembling.

With a deep breath to steady herself, she turned the corner. The vibroblade she clutched away from her gleamed in the sudden glare of light. And then there was no fear or uncertainty or trembling. There was only the will to act, and the will of action. She sliced the first droid across its center before it even had a chance to turn. The others immediately began to fire. She rolled to dodge incoming blaster fire and thrust her hand out, releasing a current through the Force. The droids flew backward, some smashing into consoles that short-circuited their programming and left sparking heaps. The rest scrambled to recover as she sprinted across the widened gap. She leapt into the air, wrapping both sets of fingers tightly into the hilt of her weapon, and landed sword first into the nearest droid. Electricity popped and snapped beneath her as she turned her gaze to the next enemy.

Blaster fire poured in. The vibroblade deflected two shots that would have killed her. A stray laser caught her thigh, burning a new scar into her flesh. She hissed, but then the pain was gone, numbed by shots of adrenaline. She was racing across the room, blocking more fire, and then she was swinging at her attacker. The droid brought its heavy limbs up to parry two of her strokes, but she was much quicker than a simple piece of mining equipment.

Soon, the droids were nothing but smoking, sizzling lumps of broken machinery. That's when her eyes went to the closed door on the far side of the room. The lockup. She could feel the energy flowing in and out of that room so strongly that she could almost see it, too. She moved closer, saw a man in a force cage with her mind's eye. Kreia whispered to her. _His thoughts are difficult to read, but there is nothing to fear from this one._ The old woman did not understand how wasted such warnings were.

Men were something she no longer feared. Not since the war. Not since Malachor. Not since her exile.

The door opened. He turned to look at her. His brown hair hung in his hazel eyes, and something untraceable passed between them. He wore a brown, ribbed jacket, a white tunic tucked into black pants, and boots. A strange sensation whirled inside of her that warmed her body in a way that adrenaline and battle did not, but she attributed it to the rest of the peculiar feelings she'd had since she had woken from the Kolto bath and reestablished her connection to the Force.

The man in the cage grinned. "Nice outfit," he drawled.

...

Just when the agony of uncertainty and the knife of hunger were becoming unbearable, the door to the lockup slid open. What he had expected to see was an executioner—droid or otherwise—finally come to end his miserable and somewhat unlawful imprisonment. The miners hadn't been too keen on his existence and only tolerated his presence, even in the Force cage, so he was positive he was to be shipped off on the next Republic freighter that passed through. The explosions, screams, and lack of human contact that had made up the last couple days, however, had been warning enough that something wasn't right and it was only a matter of time before it caught up to him.

So when those doors opened, he told himself to bravely face death and go out in a blaze of sarcasm and charm.

Only death was a tall, athletic women dripping wet and wearing nothing but her underwear. It was a sure sign that he was already dead, but the smoldering hunks of dead droid he glimpsed in his peripherals gave him a sliver of hope.

"Nice outfit," he drawled, letting his eyes wander up her long legs and across her curves. The flimsy, beige material was almost transparent and clung to her in all the right ways, accentuating all the right places. He swallowed a hard lump in his throat as his eyes passed over her chest. Then he looked at her face. It was beautiful, but hard. Her green eyes were as sharp as the vibroblade she held away from her. Her blond hair was a mass of choppy, wet tangles clinging to her face and hanging just above her shoulders. "What, you miners change regulation uniforms while I've been in here?"

The moment he said it, however, he knew it wasn't true. He knew that she wasn't a miner. He saw it in the way she walked toward him, keeping that sword extended as though she were ready to use it at any moment—poised like a professional. And she walked with the lethal grace of a stalker hunting prey. But she wasn't the death he told himself was coming for him. He could tell in her eyes. They were sharp, yeah, but they were soft. Somehow, they were understanding. Almost trustworthy. That's why, when she said, "Who are you?", he answered immediately, honestly.

"Atton," he said. "Atton Rand. Excuse me if I don't shake hands. The field only causes mild electrical burns."

"And what are you doing here, Atton Rand?" she asked, coming to a stop in front of his cage. He looked at her pointedly, and started to reply with "well, you know, one wrong turn at Telos and—" but he knew that's not what she was asking.

"Security claimed I violated some trumped-up regulation or another," he told her. "Take it up with them if you want, but they stopped listening to me shortly before they stopped feeding me."

The woman turned her head, looking elsewhere, into the distance. He stared at her, watched the water drip off her jaw and small streams run down her neck.

"What's your name?" he asked before he licked his dry lips.

"Khara Saar," she replied, still gazing off in the distance.

He wasn't sure what she'd done to get so wet—or why—and he especially had no clue as to why she was dressed like that—or lack thereof—but he was grateful. Just as his eyes started to wander back down to her breasts, her head turned back to him and he was forced to snap his eyes up to hers.

"This facility is abandoned," she told him, "save for the malfunctioning droids and all the corpses." Her green eyes looked intently at him. "Do you know what happened?"

"You mean before or after that Jedi showed up?" He frowned, not liking the idea of corpses littering the halls, especially lying beneath malfunctioning droids. "Either way, it's a real short story. You see, this Jedi shows up and you know what that means. Where there's one Jedi, the Republic will soon be crawling up your ion engine in no time." She didn't even flinch, not one tiny facial tick. "But the story gets better. See, some of the miners get it in their ferrocrete skulls that since the Jedi's unconscious, they can collect the bounty the Exchange has posted for live Jedi."

The woman tilted her head up ever so slightly. That meant something. But she said nothing, so he continued.

"Well, what passes for the law around here didn't like that idea," he mumbled. "So the two groups started fighting. Then there was some big explosion, I was sitting here for a long time, then you showed up in your underwear and things got a lot better." He allowed himself an obvious scope of her body. "Look, not that your half-naked interrogation isn't a personal fantasy of mine, but you're not a miner, are you?"

"No," she said easily.

"You're that Jedi, aren't you?"

"No," she said again. "I am not a Jedi."

And even though he knew that it was a lie, nothing had ever sounded so true.


	2. A Shard Of A Thousand Fountains

**A Shard Of A Thousand Fountains**

When Khara reemerged into the cockpit, Atton was back in the pilot's chair, flicking switches as they sailed through hyperspace. She studied the back of his head, at the way his brown hair fell. She watched as a strong arm reached out to type some code into the computer. Her eyes drifted over the slope of his shoulder, focused on his rough hands, roved up the glimpse of cheek she got when he slightly turned his head.

This man was a mystery to her, and sitting there with his back to her pronounced that mystery. They had spent the past several hours running and fighting for their lives, back to back. They spoke as strangers at some times, and old comrades at others. Yet now, they were mysteries thrown together. Him a pilot, a scoundrel, a man. And her, an exile and a woman.

People like Kreia, Khara had known all her life. Jedi or not, those attuned to the Force had a way about them. But this man? He was different. He called to her, quietly. Called to something deep inside of her, in the center of her chest, and it was not through the Force. It was a sound, a feeling, she did not know. Had never known.

"How's our passenger?" he asked when she stepped further into the room. He didn't turn around. "She still aging?"

"Cryptic as always," she replied lightly.

"That's Jedi for you," he muttered, and his tone was dripping with bitterness.

Khara almost smiled. "For someone without much to say, she sure says a lot."

"Yeah, to you, maybe. I don't usually hear much beyond 'fool' and 'imbecile'." He scoffed. "She's lucky she's a Jedi or someone would've killed her years ago." He glanced back at her. It was a quick, purposeless glance, one that was never meant to meet her eyes. "I mean, how old do you think she is? She may have been good-looking once, but it takes some hard living to make creases like that."

Khara tilted her head at him. Had she heard right? She walked right up to him and leaned around his side. That time, he did look at her, and he almost looked uncomfortable to find her so close. She was looking at him as though he was wounded, and she saw his confusion in his eyes.

"Good-looking?" she echoed. "Did you take a blaster hit when I wasn't looking?"

Suddenly, he smirked. "Hey," he chuckled, "I just got out of prison. If we had a decent navicomputer, trust me, we'd be dropping out of hyperspace into the Nar Shaddaa Red Sector right now." A lustful shadow crossed his eyes and, without ever touching his mind, she knew what he was thinking of. She suddenly felt warm again, so she turned away. His gaze followed her. She could feel it. And then the feeling was gone and the tension in the air cleared. "After spacing that old witch, of course," he muttered as an afterthought.

"Ease up on the insults," Khara said. "She was wounded helping us escape. That deserves some respect."

"Woah, alright, alright. Don't get mad at me." He glanced back at her just as she turned to look at him. Their eyes met briefly before he turned away. "Hey, I didn't ask her to stay behind and get her hand cut off, okay? I mean, I appreciate what she did and all, but she could stand to lay off the insults herself, you know?"

She knew. Kreia did not like Atton. It didn't take a Force user to sense it.

"Let's just focus on getting to Telos," Khara said quietly.

"Like we have a choice," he scoffed. "It's the only place Peragus had logged in their astrogation charts. We should be there before too long. You can check our course on the galaxy map if you want. It's on the wall behind you."

She glanced back and saw the monitor and control panel so she went to investigate it for no other reason than she didn't know what else to do with her time. As she turned knobs and flicked switches to pull up their location, she became increasingly aware of the silence. Atton cleared his throat.

"So, what happened?" he asked as casually as he could manage, but it was so far the most awkwardly interjected question of their brief relationship.

"To what?"

"Don't give me that. There were plenty of times back on Peragus where a lightsaber would have been helpful." The words caused her chest to freeze unexpectedly for just a split second and then vibrate wildly with thumping of her heart. "So where's yours?"

"Exiles aren't allowed to keep their lightsabers," she replied hollowly.

"Oh yeah?" he said in disbelief. "I thought a Jedi was supposed to be married to their lightsaber. Guess I heard wrong."

"You heard right. But I am no longer a Jedi."

"Right. Forgot. Sorry." His apology was pure sarcasm. She could almost feel him roll his eyes. "So what was it like?"

Khara's jaw clenched. "What was _what_ like?

"Your lightsaber," he replied pointedly. "It wasn't red, was it?"

"No…" She didn't want to think about it, but her mind went straight to it. After all these years, it was as clear to her as though she wielded it still. Her voice faded as her mind wandered into the past. "It was silver, like the streams in the Room of a Thousand Fountains."

Her hand that held it felt empty. Her hip where it rested felt naked. Her whole body and soul felt vulnerable with its absence. She remembered the weight of it, the sound it made, the way it absorbed light and reflected it. It was beautiful to behold, a unique treasure made for her, attuned to her. It had been as broken and hollow as she was the day the Council had stripped her of it. The last, lonely sound it made when she abandoned it echoed between her ears.

When she came out of her memory, Atton was leaning around the chair, watching her. She flushed and went back to the galaxy map, unsure of what buttons she was pushing.

"Must've been something," he said to her silence, and then turned back around. "Would sure be nice to have it now."


	3. Bust

**Bust**

Khara awoke to a clear, black sky littered with stars and a low-hanging full moon. It had only moved a little to the right since the last time she looked up at it—when she had ended her meditation and threw herself onto the bed in exhaustion. She closed her eyes again and tried to clear her thoughts, but her mind was plagued with questions, harassed by recent events, and haunted by things she did not wish to remember.

Khara sat up and stared out the window at the full moon. It was a moon that reminded her of Malachor. So large and bright there in the sky, hovering silently, and at any second it would explode into a catastrophic collapse of mass shadow.

"Can't sleep?"

Khara's head snapped to the chair on the far side. Atton was slouched in it, shuffling a deck of cards. His ribbed jacket was thrown onto the table, leaving him relaxed in his white tunic. A stray strand of hair usually brushed off to the side fell into his eyes. He was casually disheveled. Not the kind of disheveling that came with combat, but something relaxed and human. It was alluring, made more so by the way the moonlight almost hit him in that dark corner.

"No," she confessed. "You?"

He jammed a thumb in Kreia's direction. Khara glanced at the opposite corner. The old woman was still meditating. She looked back at Atton and felt a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

"Like I can sleep with that old bat lurking," he grumbled.

"Just because she's meditating does not mean she is shut out of what happens around her. The opposite, in fact," Khara told him. He just stared at her, so she added, "She _can_ hear you."

"Course she can," he said. "Privacy's too much to ask."

He stood up and walked over to her, still shuffling cards. She felt the contentment in his presence and knew he was, for the moment, at peace, but there was something predatory in his movements. It was the light, she knew, but it still made her edgy—anticipating. He didn't say anything, just walked to the window and stared. Shuffled. Stared.

"What is that you have?" she finally asked.

"These?" He held the cards out to her. "Pazaak. You play?"

"Revan tried to teach me once," she confessed, "but I never quite got the hang of it."

"Want me to show you?" he asked. "I have a padded side deck, and it beats sitting around doing nothing."

"Sure."

She curled her legs up underneath her to give him room to join her on the bed. He sat opposite her.

"It's basically a numbers game," he said, then showed her each of the cards and explained the rules. "It's easy. Let's try a practice round."

He allowed her to choose a side deck, keeping all cards face up for further instruction. He selected his, explained his choices, and then shuffled the main deck.

"You first," he said.

She drew a card: 3. He drew: 9. She drew: 6. He drew: 4. Her: 1. Him: 8.

"Perfect," he said. "Take a look. My totals are 21—a bust. So what do I do?" He motioned to his exposed side deck. There was +2,+ 3,+ 6, and -5.

"If you stand, you lose," she said, "so you play the -5 and take your chances."

"Right." So he played the -5 and drew the next card for her. 10. "And now you're sitting on 20." He grinned at her. "Not bad for a rookie."

She smiled. "Beginner's luck." And it was, since up to that point, luck-of-the-draw had been all that was in play for her.

Atton drew again. 2. "I rest on 18, but that's not a winning hand. A smart man will stay, but that's too safe. I say we live a little and draw." He did. 10. "Bust. The set's yours."

Khara smiled wider. "I think I get it. Can we play for real this time?"

"For real?" he echoed. "Neither of us is loaded down on credits, so _for real_ would have to be Nar Shaddaa rules."

"Nar Shaddaa rules?"

"Instead of betting credits," he leaned closer, "we bet our clothes."

Khara flushed. "With my luck so far? You're walking a dangerous path, Atton. I don't think you want to be stripped when Kreia ends her meditation."

"Yeah? I'll take my chances." He smirked. "While it's more probable you'll be left with everything revealed, losing to you does have its appeal. And who knows, maybe it'll give her a heart attack and solve all my problems at once."

"Atton," she warned but there was laughter in her eyes.

"All right, fine. Republic Senate rules it is." He cracked his neck. "That's when you play for no reason but the _fun_ of it. You first, rookie, since you're so good at this now."

She drew a card: 7. He drew: 7. Her: 4. Him: 2. Her: 6. She was sitting on 17. She looked at her side deck and chewed her bottom lip as she considered her choices. +2, +3, +4, -1. She laid the +3 to set her at 20.

"All right," he said and drew again: 5. Again: 5. He was sitting on 19. She knew his side deck had no solutions. He should stand, but he was damned no matter what he did. He did the thing she knew he'd do. He drew. Because pazaak, she realized, wasn't just about numbers. It told you a lot about the kind of person you faced. Atton was not a safe man. He was a risk-taker. He went for it all. With everything to lose, he drew: 4. "Bust."

They played back and forth for hours. Khara won the first match but she proceeded to lose almost every single one thereafter, winning only one set every four. She wondered if he was setting it up that way.

When the moon had traveled so far in the sky that she could no longer see it without moving, Atton yawned.

"Don't you want to sleep?" she asked.

"Who can sleep with all this excitement?" He yawned again. "Damn it. That's nothing, don't mind it."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure." He flipped a card. "So, must be tough being a Jedi. You know… no family, no husband."

"No. It wasn't." She flipped. "Those things didn't matter back then." She watched him play his turn and draw a 10 over a sum of 15. He laid a -5. "Maybe for some it was harder letting go. I just remember losing myself in the training."

"Typical Jedi—" His sarcasm was lost in a yawn as she drew a 4 over a 14 sum.

"Atton—"

"You said you were exiled." That shut her up. "How come?"

Khara looked down at the cards that had been played. His sum totaled 20 and hers was 18. "I defied the Council and joined Revan and Malak in the Mandalorian Wars." She examined her side deck. She held a +3 and a -4. "When the war ended, I returned to the Council for their judgment." Damned if she did, damned if she didn't, and Khara Saar was not a woman to give in before she had done all that she could. "They wanted to know if I had regretted my decisions, if I had seen the wisdom in their caution." She flipped a card and drew a 5. 23 sum. She played the -4. 19 sum. "I told them the galaxy would have burned had the other Jedi exercised the same _caution_, and that I regretted nothing." She drew a 2. Bust. "And they exiled me."

Khara lifted her gaze to Atton's. He was staring so intensely at her that it caused a tremor inside of her. They sat in silence with their eyes deadlocked for a long time. No one moved. Atton didn't even yawn. By the time Khara had realized the moon had disappeared, the room was already dark. She could barely see the light in her companion's eyes.

"Well," he finally said, "just one more reason for me to hate Jedi."

Khara had no idea what to say.


	4. The Tech

**The Tech**

There was thunderous noise crashing around her. A loud and deep guh-thunk signaled the engine was turning over. There was laser fire, at first just one or two turrets, and then the noise filled up her ears as thousands of blasters and turrets attacked one another. Metal and fire exploded around her. The whir of machinery powering up was a shrill noise behind her. A cool breeze brushed her face—the kind of breeze caused by the collision of super-cooled and super-heated air currents colliding, only this wasn't nature but rather cryo ordnance versus frags and flamethrowers. And then someone was calling her name.

"G…ral… G…neral…"

She turned her head. She silently nodded. Just one nod.

"Gen…ral…!"

The whine of the machine quickly became a roar. The void was filling up the sky, sucking energy into it. There were screams. There was a thud. Someone grabbed her.

"General!"

Khara's fingers closed around an object and she swung out. Something caught her wrist and her eyes flew open. A shard of metal was inches away from piercing the neck of the Zabrak that held her. A metal hand held hers tightly, wide-eyed in surprise. That face. She knew that face. For a moment, she wasn't sure where she was or what was happening. Khara tried to center herself. She reached out in the Force. Instantly she knew this wasn't Malachor. Her trembling fingers released the shard and it clunked against his metal arm and skittered onto the ground.

"Are you all right?" he asked. She nodded and immediately began trying to calm her rapid breathing. "It's good to see you again, General," he said, "though I admit I didn't think I'd ever see you again. The galaxy's a big place, and this is the last place I thought I'd bump into you."

She knew him. She knew his face. He was one of the Iridonian mechanic corps at Malachor. What was his name?

Atton groaned behind them. "What are you… doing?" he mumbled. She looked back and saw him grasping his head, his hazel eyes struggling to concentrate on her.

That's when she realized her situation. The Zabrak was cradling her in his arms and still holding her hand away from her face. It must have looked strange. He must have sensed her sudden discomfort because he immediately and carefully began helping her to her feet. The hand that was still flesh went to her head to steady any dizziness that might sneak up and then he was backing away from her. Khara nodded her thanks to him.

"Ba…o…" She trailed off, forgetting the rest.

"Bao-Dur. I'm not surprised you don't remember me." But she did. "I was just a tech." He had been so much more than that. He had been _the_ tech.

Khara stared at him, at his golden eyes, and was bombarded by the past. Part of her felt comforted by his presence. He was a kindred spirit—not in the way she felt with other Jedi, but the kind only war could form. They were connected, the two of them, and while the bond was relieving, it was also terrifying. Part of her was comforted, yes, but the other part writhed. Why was he here? Why him? Why of all the people she served with were the two of them thrust back together? There were no coincidences. The Force had aligned their paths. It should have eased her spirit knowing this, but it was the scariest part of all.

"I don't want to talk about the war," she told him as she went to help Atton to his feet.

"I'll agree to that. The less said the better."

"Ugh," Atton groaned. "This is familiar. Feels like my last time on Telos."

"Crashed a shuttle that time, too?" Bao-Dur asked.

"No. Pazaak."


	5. Woman In White

**Woman In White**

Khara saw the signs of an old friend in the women in white, for they bore uncanny resemblance to a woman she had once known. They disarmed her, escorting her one way and her friends another. The handmaidens brought her before a door that opened to a long, metal bridge that stretched over a yawning chasm and connected to a private chamber. She should have known where it was they were taking her. Or rather, she should have known to whom it was she was being taken, but the idea that it could be true was so foreign in her mind that she was surprised to know the identity of her captor. As she crossed that bridge alone, the doors on the other side opened and she was awash with familiarity. White hair, white eyes, white robes, and pale skin—Atris stood before her, her face hard lines. And within her, Khara sensed apprehension.

The white woman held her chin high as she crossed the bridge to meet her halfway.

"I did not expect to see you again after the day of your sentencing." There was nothing friendly in her tone. "I thought you had taken the exile's path, wandering the galaxy. Yet you have returned. Why?"

"Atris," she said, folding her arms over her chest. "I should have known. What have you done with my friends?"

"They have not been harmed. They have been detained," she paused and then added, "for their safety. I find it unusual that you are traveling with others again. I thought you had forsaken such company after the war. Or is that why you're here?"

"No. It was not my intention to come here, Atris, or to see you again."

"Yet here you are." Her tone was hard, detached. "Perhaps you do not know yourself as well as you think. Regardless, your arrival here begs an explanation. Have you come to face the judgment of the Council, as you did so many years ago? Are you finally willing to admit we were right to cast you out?"

She sounded so haughty, so self-righteous, so sure of herself that Khara had to laugh. Had such a thing plagued Atris all these years? The need to be right? She would be disappointed with the answer.

"I admit nothing, and nothing has changed. I could not stand by and let innocents die on the Outer Rim—that is not wrong."

"So you said before. I didn't believe it then and I don't believe it now."

"And I am not surprised."

"You sought adventure, you hungered for battle. You could not wait to follow Revan to war." It all spilled out of her as though she had been holding it back a thousand years. "The Jedi Order asked only for time to examine the Mandalorian threat. They urged caution, patience." It was as if Atris desperately needed her to understand. And then her voice hardened again, took on that judgmental tone. "And you defied them. You were a Jedi no longer. You were exiled."

"Yes, I remember, Atris. I was there." She took a step closer to the white woman. "I remember how you wished for my death."

Atris stared at her for a long time. In guilt, in shame—whatever emotion, it was held in quiet restraint. "There was much about that day that was difficult to forget," she said quietly. "Your words, your defiance… and when you stabbed your lightsaber into the center stone." She reached out and suddenly a hilt leapt through her thick, outer robe and into her hand. It was a hilt she recognized. "I have kept it… so I would never forget."

A silver beam of light ignited before her.

Khara's eyes deadlocked on it. She felt a tug inside of her, a surge of emotion so strong that she almost reached out to take it. She heard the sad, tuneless noise it made as another held it.

"My lightsaber," Khara heard herself whisper.

"When you turned your back on the Order, it was no longer yours!" Atris snapped. "And I have always kept it as a reminder of what can happen when your passions dictate your actions. I have kept it so I would _never_ forget your arrogance or your insult to the Order."

"_My _insult?" Anger flared within her. "You insult me by carrying it!"

"Then you misunderstand its significance and my reason for carrying it. It is a symbol of something greater, which you no longer represent." She disengaged the blade and returned it to its resting place beneath her thick robes.

"Don't toy with me, Atris!" Khara snapped. "If such lessons were so easy to forget, you would not even be here. No, you haven't forgotten and it has nothing to do with that weapon. It has plagued you all these years. And that lightsaber is nothing more than a symbol of an ex-Jedi!" she shouted. "For all your talk of symbols and reminders, it is attachment that keeps someone else's weapon on your belt. Do you think mine holds more power than your own? More power in its meaning, more power as a symbol?"

"Why must you be this way?" she hissed. "I am not unsympathetic to your feelings. I know leaving the Order must have been difficult for you."

She knew nothing.

Khara turned away from her, waving her arm as if to dismiss her. "Keep your false sympathies," she spat, pacing back and forth. "I do not want them. I left nothing. I was cast out."

"You gave the Council no other choice. You gave _me_ no other choice!"

"I had no other choice but to go to war!" she bellowed.

"Life is full of choices," Atris shot back. "And when you have to make one, you have the Jedi teachings to guide you."

"They did guide me! I went to war to protect others, not for battle!"

"So your choice was to meet the aggression of the Mandalorians with more aggression? That is not the Jedi way!"

"And the Council's way was to meet aggression with surrender! Aggression and battle are not synonymous, Atris. The Mandalorians were _butchering_ innocent worlds, worlds that we had sworn to protect! Something had to be done!"

"Every choice we make, whether we know it or not, sends echoes through the Force. It can awaken feelings, ignite passions—hate, anger, fear—where none existed before. You brought out aggression with your choices, and by meeting aggression, by serving as an opponent against which the Mandalorians could test themselves, you fed their hate, their lust for war."

"Meeting them with less got planets of people slaughtered! Atris!" She stormed over to her, grasped her shoulders. "Were you not tempted to help the innocent?"

"Of course I was," the woman hissed. "But the Jedi teachings require we examine how we may best help them. Action without reflection is not our way."

"Tell that to the millions who died—to the millions we could have saved!" she shouted.

"There was no guarantee that marching to war would have saved the Outer Rim. In fact, quite the opposite!"

"No guarantee? The only guarantee, Atris, is that if we had not acted, the Republic would have fallen!"

"A physical victory, perhaps, but the real victory lay in t—"

"—triumph of pacifism? Surrender?"

"Do not twist my words," she ground out, jerking out of Khara's grasp. "A physical victory is not the only victory… or the only loss. You know that."

"And your _words_," she spat, "would have rung hollow if the Mandalorians had crushed the Republic and conquered the galaxy!"

"You do not kno—"

"Anyone who stepped outside the Jedi Archives would know it was true!" she interrupted. "If the Mandalorians had won, would the Jedi have fought then? Or simply meditated on what to do?"

Atris' pale skin flushed a deep, angry red. "How dare you?" she growled darkly. Hatred flared in her eyes. "The war sent a terrible echo through you. And because of it, you and those Jedi who met them on the battlefield lost their way… and you turned on us!" Her words were filled with malice and her eyes were dark slits. "The Mandalorian Wars should have been your grave and Malachor V is where you should've died!"

That was the truth Khara had known all along that Atris had believed. It was not a truth based on hatred, but rather within insecurities, within doubt. But where was the doubt coming from?

"Careful, Atris…" Khara muttered lightly, "anger leads to the dark side."

This time, her skin flushed in shame, but her pride would not give in. "You see shadows where there are none and hate where there is none. You are blind, as always!"

"This anger…" Khara began, peering deeper into the woman's feelings now that they were so exposed. "Is it because… secretly you wish you'd had the strength to follow me?"

"What?" she snapped in shock, face paling once more. Suddenly it was all so clear.

"You wanted to fight, didn't you? But you were too scared to defy the Council."

"You're wrong," she exclaimed, "just as you were when you defied the Council!" Atris suddenly whirled around and stomped away from her, taking deep breaths. After a quiet moment, she turned back around. "I tire of… fighting with you." Her calm was forced, laced with lingering anger. "You lust for war, and you always will. And you have succeeded in distracting me from my query. So answer me. If you cannot seem to admit the Council was correct, then why are you here?"

"My ship was stolen," Khara replied. "I tracked it here."

"Your ship?" she asked. "Ah, the Ebon Hawk. It is not your ship." Atris stared defiantly at her and Khara wondered where the white woman's audacity to command her stemmed from, to tell her what her feelings were or weren't, what belonged to her and what didn't. "Unless, of course, you are admitting to the destruction of the Peragus mining facility."

Khara looked away, annoyed. There was always some trap the white woman was trying to lure her into, traps ill-conceived. "That was an accident—"

"Ah, an accident," Atris interrupted. "Something beyond your control. You have not changed." She was radiating judgment. "Acting instead of thinking. Putting yourself before the galaxy, before the Jedi. Do you know what you have done?"

Khara's fists clenched angrily. More traps, she knew, but she would not be baited. Exchanging philosophy on the war was one thing, but she would not defend her character to anyone. She did not regret her choices. She knew where her loyalties lay, where her values stemmed from. She was not ashamed and she was not intimidated.

"What I have done? Yeah," she mumbled sarcastically. "I destroyed two worlds with one explosion."

Atris glared at her. "No, your crime is much more than that. Without fuel from Peragus, Citadel Station cannot maintain its orbit. It will crash into the planet and its destruction will echo across twenty other worlds! Telos was a test to see if the Republic could mount a restoration effort on the Outer Rim. When it fails, the Republic will not finance another. The other Rim worlds devastated by the Sith will remain graveyard worlds, devoid of life. And that is the magnitude of your crime!"

There was no lesson to be learned here, Khara realized. Atris' only intention was to hurt the one she blamed for all the wrong in the galaxy, to insist upon her rightness. And there was nothing to be taught, either. Atris could not be reached. She believed herself above whatever truth Khara might impress upon her.

"Yes," Khara said, "it's almost as bad as the Jedi letting the Outer Rim die during the war."

"If you think to anger me with your flawed convictions, you are wrong. You will not." And yet the anger was evident in her voice and on her face. "How is it that you are not content to confine your ruin to yourself—you must spread it to others, wherever you go?"

Khara's head tilted slightly up. It was not contentment to spread her ruin that caused such a thing to happen, rather her inability to control it. Still, there was some truth to Atris' words, some bitter, ugly truth that she could not stop her actions from dictating the course of others' futures in ways more direct than the chain-of-the-Force. It troubled her and Atris knew it, had capitalized on it.

"Ruin yourself with your actions, if you will," the white woman hissed, "but when your actions bring harm to others, then you must answer for it. For your crimes. For Peragus."

"_My_ crimes? I am blamed for the actions of the Sith?"

Atris stared blankly at her for a drawn out moment before managing to mumble, "The Sith? What are you talking about?"

"The Sith came for me on Peragus. It was them that fired on the field that caused the explosion, not I."

Another drawn out silence. Her bewildered quiet extended as long as it took her to discern the truth for herself. "You speak… truly. You have encountered the Sith…" A flicker of pain shadowed her face. "I can feel the scars on you. But why come to Peragus? Why come for you?"

"They believe I am the last Jedi."

Her sympathy quickly dried up. "_You_? If they thought _you_ a Jedi, the teachings of the Sith blind them, indeed."

"As your arrogance blinds you, Atris?"

"_I_ am the last Jedi, not you." It was almost like she was convincing herself. "You betrayed our teachings, our beliefs—the very core of the Jedi Order. If these Sith attacked you, they will soon realize their mistake. And if you escaped, they _let_ you go, to see if you would lead them here."

Khara was astounded. Instead of asking for help, Atris did nothing but to single out their differences—Jedi and ex-Jedi—as if doing so truly changed their capabilities. Though Khara no longer considered herself a Jedi—nor was she considered one by others—she could still fight like one. She could still use the Force. But Atris would only have Jedi at her side, and the fact that there were none any longer did not seem to concern her.

"Then it is your problem, Last of the Jedi, and they are stronger than you think. At least one Sith Lord stands with them, and they fight like no Sith I have ever met in battle."

"Whatever force they can bring to bear, it will not matter," she said haughtily. "If they face a true Jedi, they will fall."

_You will fall_, she thought. "Your grasp of tactics is… questionable."

"It is not your problem," she snapped. "You walked out on the Code long ago."

"If that is your belief, have it your way. Stand alone, Last of the Jedi," Khara spat, "if it please your pride to do so."

Her eyes turned to icy slits once more. "Take your ship then. I don't care where you go, just leave this place. Leave Telos. Do not come back, traitor."

"No arguments here." Khara turned and started to head down the ramp. She paused and glanced over her shoulder, one question nagging at her mind. "Are there really no more Jedi?"

"I said I was the last of the Jedi, _exile_, and I did not speak falsely."

Khara looked away from the white woman. "If you are truly the last, then the Order is no more."

A wave of anger rolled over her. "Get out!" Atris shrieked.

The handmaidens rushed up onto the bridge, weapons drawn. Khara walked past them quietly. The doors shut tight behind her.

As the Exile exited and the doors were locked behind her, one of the handmaidens turned to look up at the white woman.

"Forgive me, Mistress, but I must ask. The Exile, was she important to you once?"

"We all have our heroes," Atris replied quietly, "and when we watch them fall, we die inside. She made a choice once… and I did not." There was no mistaking the bitterness in her tone. "The day we judged her, I stood in the chamber and I watched her and she was… she was so right." Atris frowned. "She was so certain of it, I doubted myself. But not now." The frown turned to a glare. "She will never make me doubt myself again."


	6. The Trial

**The Trial**

When Khara, Atton, Kreia, Bao-Dur, and T3 strode onto the Ebon Hawk, Khara did not look back. She was angry. She had known the Council had blamed her, but the hatred? The raw arrogance that not only judged her actions but ground her character into the mud? They had loved her once, embraced her as a sister in the Order, and gladly fought alongside her. The simple choice to fight had shattered her forever in their eyes. At no point did they attempt to understand her choices, and her intentions meant nothing. She was no better than a Sith in their eyes. It was infuriating.

But she was also sad. Because no matter how wronged she felt by the Order, to learn that there were none left caused an ache in her chest that she couldn't heal.

"Well, now that we're off that dejarik board of a planet, I saw we burn sky until we see lines," Atton said as they filtered into the main cabin. T3 began beeping immediately, causing such a racket that it snapped Khara out of her thoughts.

"Woah, slow down," she said. "What are you talking about?"

T3 was beeping so frantically that his whole frame rocked back-and-forth excitedly.

"The link worked both ways?" Khara gasped as T3 continued to chirp, kneeling down in front of him.

"What is the machine saying?" Kreia asked but the droid would not stop beeping.

"When Atris attempted to download his memory core, he was able to download her archives as well," Khara replied, grinning up at the group. "She has records of Jedi scattered across the galaxy." She pressed her forehead to the droid's frame and smiled. "Good going, T3."

He beeped some more and the news caused her smile to fade. She leaned back and stared at him.

"What now?" Atton asked.

"Beep beep?" T3 asked. Khara swallowed the lump in her throat and slowly stood up. "Dwoooo."

"Atris kept a holorecording of my trial," she said quietly.

"Then we should see it," Kreia announced. "It could give us some insight."

"Now hold on," Atton said. "That was a long time ago. I don't see how it could be relevant now. I don't see how prying into her business will help anything."

"Everything is connected," Kreia growled. "What happened then, what is happening now—it is all a reaction to some greater event, all tumbling down, guiding us to what is to come. If we are to understand where it is we go next, we must examine where it was we came from that led us here."

"So we put her on trial again? Is that is?" Atton argued. "We make her live through it again? If there's something there, she'll tell you. It's not our damn business."

"If it bothers you so much, there are things you could be about—such as getting us off this planet." Kreia nodded to the droid. "Play it."

"Deet deet?" T3's blue eye looked up at Khara. He wanted to know if it was okay.

Khara looked at Atton, at his apprehension. He did not leave, she noticed. He was just as curious as the others. Still, it made her feel a little bit happy that he had fought for her privacy. She looked back at T3 and nodded. He rolled closer to the central console and plugged into it. The blue holoprojection appeared soon after.

_Khara Saar walked into the Council chamber. A circle of seats surrounded a center stone and the energy of Coruscant buzzed beyond the dome of glass that covered the room. Most of the chairs were empty. Masters Vrook, Zez-Kai Ell, Kavar, Vash, and Atris sat next to each other, all staring stone-faced at her as she approached them._

_Khara wore her old, dark brown Jedi robes. Her hair was longer, tied up with dangling braids and beads. The scars of battle were still fresh on her body, the markers of war not yet faded. But there was so much life and fire in her eyes._

Khara stared at the image of her old self and did not know what to feel. She remembered every moment of it as though it had happened yesterday.

_Vrook sat in the center of the five Council members. He looked as disappointed as she had anticipated._

"_Do you know why we have called you here?" he asked._

"_I came because I chose to," she replied._

"_As Revan summoned you, so you have come full circle to return the Jedi," Kavar told her._

The same thought that she had then came back to her again. _I did not answer any summons of Jedi, only those of the screaming innocents dying in the Outer Rim._ They would not hear her, though. She had known it even then.

"_Why did you defy us?" Zez-Kai Ell asked. "The Jedi are guardians of the peace and have been for centuries. This call to war undermines all that we have worked for."_

"_What peace do Jedi guard?" Khara challenged them. "The galaxy's or our own? The Outer Rim was burning and we did nothing for the sake of peace? There was no peace! The Mandalorians saw to that."_

"_Is Revan your master now?" Atris asked._

"_No—"_

"_Or is it the horror you wrought at Malachor," she continued, "that has caused you to see the truth at last?"_

"_The truth? The truth is that the Mandalorians had to be stopped!" Khara exclaimed. "We had our time for deliberating when the Republic first met the Mandalorians in battle! When they lost and cried out for our help, we did nothing! As Jedi, we protect the peace, defend the Republic! How could watching billions die as a war-hungry people ravaged their worlds and enslaved the survivors be the right thing to do? There was no purpose to this slaughter except that the Mandalorians needed a challenge and we condoned that with our inaction!"_

"_You presume much—" Atris started, but Khara was not finished._

"_Master Zez-Kai Ell!" she exclaimed, pointing at him. "The Mandalorians undid all that you had worked for! The Jedi you claim betrayed you fought to get it back!"_

"_You refuse to hear us," Zez-Kai Ell responded. "You have shut us out, and so have shut yourself to the galaxy."_

"_We feel that your true understanding of what happened at Malachor V will only happen in time," Kavar said, "and it cannot happen here, near the battlegrounds where you fought."_

_Khara lifted her chin._

Khara lifted her chin, holding back the emotion she knew was coming. All of the thoughts from that day came rushing back to her. How could they talk of understanding of Malachor V? They were not there. They did not know. She had been there, she had given the order, she knew exactly what had happened. She had destroyed a world and thousands of lives with it, ally and enemy alike. She understood that better than anyone.

_Master Vash looked at her passively. "You are exiled," she said. The finality of those three words hung heavy in the air. Her next words cut the silence like a knife. "You are a Jedi no longer."_

Khara felt the familiar stab in her chest. Since Malachor V, she had not considered herself a Jedi, though she had never spoken the thought aloud or consciously confirmed it in her mind. The words did not hurt her as much as the meaning behind them being spoken. She was cast out, severed from her family, from the only life she had ever known.

"_There is one last thing," Vrook said, completely void of sympathy or sorrow. "Your lightsaber. Surrender it."_

_Khara stared at him, at all of them. She looked from one face to the next—saw Atris' anger, Zez-Kai Ell's sadness, Katar's righteousness, Vash's passivity, and Vrook's judgment. They were a wall of rejection._

"_The lightsaber is the weapon of a Jedi," Vrook said when she did not move. "You have no right to carry yours any longer."_

"_This is a kindness," Atris told her quietly. "You deserve much worse."_

_Khara held out her hand and the hilt leapt into it, a silver beam blazing a second later. In one fierce strike, she stabbed it into the center stone so deep that when she withdrew, the hilt remained lodged in the rock. She turned, robes swaying, and walked out._

Atton was both incredibly angry by the arrogance of the Jedi Council and incredibly moved by Khara's defiance. He looked over at her. Her face was pulled tight, expression twisted by the pain of the memory. He wanted to go to her, but there were too many people looking on.

He looked at Kreia. The hag was responsible for bringing up this pain in the first place. He wanted to throw her out the airlock. Bao-Dur, he noticed, was watching in fascination. He had known her from the war, Atton had gathered that much, but after they had become strangers. Perhaps knowing what had happened in the aftermath was important to him. It was important to Atton, too, seeing this moment. He didn't know why, but Khara was in his head. This glimpse into her past made him feel closer to her, connected to what had happened and what was happening. It made him feel like he couldn't be discarded on a whim as some stranger that had no reason to be at her side.

And then the masters in the recording started talking again and his attention was pulled back to the trial.

"_Much defiance in that one," Kavar mumbled when Khara had left._

"_You were correct, Kavar," Zez-Kai Ell said. "When she was here, I felt it. It was as if she was not there, more like an echo."_

"_The war has touched the youngest of the Order," Vash expounded. "Many of them have lost themselves in battle against the Mandalorians."_

"_We have not lost a Jedi this day," Atris argued. "You felt it. She has lost herself! She is no Jedi. She walked Revan's path, but she was not strong enough."_

_Zez-Kai Ell shook his head sadly. "I fear it is our teachings that may have led Revan to choose the path he did."_

"_We are not the ones who taught him," Atris countered._

"_We take responsibility, Atris, not cast blame," Vash reminded her._

"_The choice of one was the choice of us all," Kavar agreed. "Revan's teacher intended no harm. And Revan had many teachers since."_

"_Yet they all stem from the same source," Atris continued. "His teachings violated the Jedi Code and lead all who listen to the dark side, as they did Khara Saar."_

"_You are wrong," Vash said. "The dark side is not what I sensed in Khara." She looked around. "Surely the rest of you felt it as well. That emptiness we felt…" Her face became sad. "She has changed."_

"_Whatever that… wound… was, it was of the dark side," Atris insisted. "We should not have let her depart. She will simply join Revan again, or perhaps worse."_

"_What would you have done with her, Atris?" Zez-Kai Ell asked, frowning. "Be mindful of your feelings! This is not Revan who stood before you. This one walks a different path."_

"_No," Kavar said seriously. "Though that may come in time." He looked at Atris. "We let her go because we must. Where she travels, she carries her destination with her."_

_Atris jumped to her feet. "Malachor V should have been her grave! You saw it in her walk, and in the Force. It was as if she was already dead!"_

Atton suddenly had the strong feeling that he wanted that one dead, that woman in white.

"_No, not death," Zez-Kai Ell said, staring at the space where Khara had gone. "Many battles remain for that one, if what we have seen is true. But the future is a shifting thing, and she cuts like a blade through it."_

"_We should have told her," Vash said. "A Jedi deserves to know."_

"_No good would have come from it, even if what you believed was true," Vrook piped in. "There is still the matter of Revan, and such truths could leave us vulnerable on two fronts."_

"_Perhaps in many years, we will call her before us and explain what happened to her and how she may be healed," Kavar suggested. "Until then, she must accept her journey."_

"_But she may never discover the truth," Vash complained. "And she will never know why we cast her out."_

"_Then that is the future we must accept," Vrook said solemnly._

The recording ended and the whole room was silent. Atton swallowed the lump in his throat and looked at Khara. She was staring hollowly at the space where the projected images had been.

"Those Jedi sure like their secrets, huh?" he said casually, trying to lighten the mood. She did not flinch, not even blink. She just continued to stare.

"Dwoooo," T3 droned.

"They knew what happened to me," Khara said numbly. "They all did."

No one said anything else. After a moment, the ex-Jedi turned and walked from the room.

It wasn't until they were flying through space that Atton abandoned his post in the cockpit and went to find Khara. He scoured the ship but there was no sign of her until he was heading port to starboard and glanced over at the engine room. She was sitting on the floor next to the hyperdrive unit, watching T3 as the droid worked on some piece of equipment. She was talking to it, to the droid, as if it were a person. She even smiled.

"Betrayal," a raspy voice crooned, almost causing Atton to shiver. "_Machines_." Kreia said the word as though it were a rotting piece of meat dropped onto her plate. "Her passion for such things defies me."

Not that Atton totally disagreed—he normally couldn't stand droids—but to hear Kreia say it like it was a problem for Khara, like it was a flaw, really pissed him off.

"Yeah? Well I don't think T3's going anywhere any time soon if she has anything to say about it, so if it bothers you so much, I'd be happy to drop you off at the port of your choosing."

"Your happiness does not concern me, murderer. As long as you serve her, you have your use."

And then she walked away. Atton was thankful for that. He turned back to the engine room to watch her and leaned against the doorframe, head thunking quietly against the metal as he posted up for the long haul. There was something calm about her as she sat there talking to a droid, head resting against a warm hyperdrive unit. T3 beeped noisily and Khara smiled again. He envied that dumb droid.

Suddenly she looked up and saw him.

"Atton," she said.

"Didn't want to interrupt," he lied, walking over.

"Is something wrong?"

"Just thought we should get our bearings. They kicked us off Telos fast enough." He crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his gaze on her. "You make friends wherever you go, don't you?"

She smiled. He loved that smile. It was warm and somehow felt meaningful.

"Until the galaxy runs out of people, yes."

"That's encouraging," he mumbled nonchalantly. "Nothing like a steady stream of people who hate us or want to kill us to keep the heart pumping."

Suddenly her face became serious. "Atton," she began, "you've done enough. I can't even begin to thank you for all you've risked for me. But you have no reason to get yourself caught up in all of this. I understand if you want to leave."

He didn't want her to say that. He didn't want to hear her say he had no reason to be there. That would make it true. And to stay, he would have to invent a reason, and he wasn't sure he was ready for whatever that reason was. Not to mention, the old bitch was blackmailing him into staying. Not that she had to, of course; he had already been coming up with reasons to tag along when the hag had crossed the line and crawled into his mind. Still, if Khara _needed_ him, it would've made him feel better.

"Nah, I was just complaining," he confessed. "I'm with you until things start going better for you. You're kind of a walking disaster right now." He grinned. "And who knows? I might be able to help you out of a tight spot at some point."

Khara looked elsewhere, almost like she was embarrassed. "Don't take this the wrong way but I thought you'd jump ship as soon as possible. I'm relieved you're staying on." She looked at him and smiled again. "Thank you, Atton."

"Ah, hey," he mumbled, trying to play it casually, "don't mention it. It's my pleasure. Besides," he shrugged, "it's been awhile since I had a pazaak partner with half-a-brain. I'm not gonna give that up easily."

T3 chirped and Khara laughed at whatever it was the droid had said. He wasn't as affluent in droid languages as she was and didn't quite catch it. He wanted to ask, but wasn't sure he really wanted to know. What if she was laughing _at_ him? That would ruin the moment.

"So about those bearings," he said, rubbing the back of his head. "Where exactly are we headed or am I just flying toward black?"

"Atris kept a record of some of the Jedi Masters from the Council and their locations," she told him. "It's possible she's not the last Jedi, after all. I need to find them if they're still alive, warn them about the Sith. That," she looked bashful, "and they know what happened to me. I want answers, if I can get them."

"Fair enough."

"You may get your wish after all, Atton," she said, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "One of the Masters is said to be hiding on Nar Shaddaa."

_I just got out of prison. If we had a decent navicomputer, trust me, we'd be dropping out of hyperspace into the Nar Shaddaa Red Sector right now._ He almost blushed with her looking at him like that, remembering his declaration of intent to get laid.

"Well, Kay, the urge has somewhat passed now that you're no longer running around in your underwear," he told her, and she _did_ blushed. "So no hurry there. Where did you want to head to first?"

"Dantooine," she replied quietly, looking away in embarrassment.

"Yes, ma'am," he said and, with a self-satisfied smirk, walked away.


	7. I Gave The Order

**I Gave The Order**

Khara was sitting in what had been dubbed the garage aboard the Ebon Hawk. It was where the workstation had been installed and where Bao-Dur had taken up post. Though he worked in many areas across the ship based upon the need of repairs, the bulk of work he did in the garage. It was where Khara had taken to working herself.

Promising T3 a thorough cleaning, she had donned some work clothes and found herself sitting on the ground with the droid between her legs, a bucket of solution on one side of her, and a bundle of rags and several scrubbing brushes of many sizes on the other. Bao-Dur was leaning over some piece of equipment armed with a plasma torch, firing away at various places while Remote hovered nearby. They worked quietly for a long time, him repairing things and her cleaning T3.

"General," he said as she was digging into a particularly tough stain. "Is there a reason you don't carry a lightsaber anymore?"

The question took her aback and she stopped what she was doing to look at him. _Because the Council took it from me,_ was her first thought. _Because a lightsaber is a Jedi's weapon and I am not a Jedi_, was her second. Both thoughts were true, but they were not _the_ truth. The Council had commanded her to surrender it, but they did not take it. They could not have taken it. They had asked for it and she had given it willingly. Besides, a lightsaber was the tool of Sith as well as Jedi, and believing that only a Jedi could wield a lightsaber was part of the same teachings that led to inaction when the Outer Rim was burning. She was no Sith and she was no Jedi, but that did not mean a lightsaber did not belong in her hand. The truth? The truth was because…

"Because it is gone."

"That's not your lightsaber anymore, General," he said as she went back to cleaning. He lifted the protective visor over his head to look at her. "That one belonged to the person who went to war with Revan. And that's not who you are anymore." When she said nothing, Bao-Dur continued. "You could build another if you wanted to… but you know that."

Khara's hand stilled as she digested the meaning behind his words. "You think I'm afraid." She glanced at him. "I'm not."

"I never said you were." He pulled the visor back over his face. "But you should put it behind you, if you are. I know this: without a lightsaber, you are not complete. It's part of who you are."

Khara remembered the glow of the silver beam, the way the hilt felt in her fist, the fluid motions of the combat forms. Bao-Dur was right. It was part of who she was. But she didn't want to hear that. Her lightsaber was gone. They had asked for it and she had given it up. It was _gone_, and a new one would not sing the same song that hers had, that tune that resonated deep within her soul.

"With the Order gone and the Enclaves destroyed, I wouldn't even know where to begin—" she heard herself say.

"I could help you out there," he told her between blasts of the plasma torch. "I know all the parts you need, how to fit them together. I'll admit the crystal's a mystery to me, but the rest of it won't be a problem. I'm sure when we get to Dantooine, we'll find all the parts you need." He shrugged one shoulder. "Think about it."

Khara hadn't stopped thinking about it since they had exiled her. Now that it was a possibility, however—now that it was possibly needed—she was anxious. Her fingers longed to hold a lightsaber again. Her bones twitched to feel the vibration, the steady hum of energy, to sink into the old stances. Her soul longed to hear the song again. She was naked without her lightsaber, a vulnerable child lost in the wilderness. With it, she could become something again. Not a Jedi, not a Sith—but what? What would she be? She didn't know, was afraid of the answer. But with a lightsaber in hand, all of her potential would explode out of her, and there would be no excuse for failure, for hiding, for exile. She would have no choice but to act, sealing her fate in whatever role Kreia seemed to believe destiny had written for her.

It would mean more lives at stake, as well… the lives of those closest to her.

Khara was frowning when T3 beeped and brought her out of her thoughts. She apologized for the delay and continued cleaning.

"Having you here has an effect on me, General," Bao-Dur told her casually as he finished up his task and set the plasma torch aside for a different set of tools. "I never noticed it years ago. I think my mind was too occupied then."

"Probably because I stopped wearing that boring Republic uniform," she mumbled, dipping her rag in the solution, squeezing it out, and wiping T3's frame down. "I lost track of who was who myself back then."

"I'll freely admit that your new wardrobe is an improvement," he said, throwing her a grin, "but that's just a pleasant distraction."

"Bao-Dur," she said, shaking her head in mock disappointment.

"The truth is, I feel… calm. More in control. The anger is still there, but I can feel it drifting away." He flipped a techreader over his right eye and stuck his face into a cluster of wires, digging around with his tools. "The last years of my life have been defined by it—the Mandalorians, Czerka, and Revan. And above all else, myself. For Malachor."

Khara stared numbly at the oil and grime stains on her droid friend. "And me?"

"Hm?" He looked up from the wires.

"What about me?" she asked. "For giving the order."

"Never, General." He said it so quickly, so confidently, that she almost believed it. "It had to be done."

"Then why the self-loathing?"

"My hands destroyed the Mandalorians. I cannot be forgiven for that."

"By destroying them, you saved millions of innocents from slaughter. That is not something requiring forgiveness."

"Even if I did it out of hatred?" he growled. "I like to think I was doing it for the right reasons, but in the end the only emotion I remember was hatred for the Mandalorians for what they'd done, and the desire to destroy them."

"Your punishing yourself for a tragedy that left us all wrecked, but the truth is that you saved the Republic."

"Maybe so, but I can't just ignore the blood on my hands. I still feel like I need to do something to make up for what I've done."

"And what about me?" she screamed suddenly, jumping to her feet. "You say you do not blame me, and yet I was the one who gave the order! You say there is blood on your hands, then I am bathed in the stuff! Revan birthed the plan and bid you build it, you created it, but I was the one that gave the order. You would never have set it off if I hadn't affirmed it." She stormed over and grabbed him up by the collar of his shirt. "None of us are blameless, yet you do not blame me? If you cannot forgive yourself, you cannot forgive me!"

"General—"

Khara released him with a shove, anger pouring out of her, flames fueled by her own guilt. There were a lot of choices she had made in the war that had been necessary at the time but were almost too hard to live with when the stress of necessity faded away.

Khara strode over to the workbench and pulled her vibroblade off the rack. She dropped it down in front of Bao-Dur and kicked it to him.

"If you want to punish those responsible for Malachor V," she whispered, "you start with me."

Bao-Dur just knelt there, staring at her. After a long time, he knocked the vibroblade away. Khara nodded her understanding and went back to cleaning T3. Bao-Dur, too, went back to work.


	8. The Meaning Of Intentions

**The Meaning Of Intentions**

The mercenaries were fodder and proved no match for Khara's vibroblade, Bao-Dur's fists, or Atton's and T3's blasters. She had known they would not give up without a fight, but it had been in her hope that she could persuade them to depart. They were persuaded only by violence.

And Master Vrook stared at her—a flat and feelingless stare—the whole time.

When the fight was done, the forcefield on the cage dissipated on its own and he stepped out confidently, that scowl that made up the lines of his face in full force.

"Always rushing into action without thinking of the consequences," Vrook said, verbally slapping her across the face. "What? You were expecting thanks?"

"I… I expect nothing from you," Khara stammered, still shocked by his reaction.

"Khoonda is in danger," Vrook told her, "and you've ruined the best chance of averting a full scale conflict."

"You've got to be kidding me," Atton mumbled.

Khara's jaw was clenched so tightly, she thought her teeth might break. "I could stick you back in the cage if you think it would help," she ground out.

"Is this a joke to you?" he asked in that way that made her feel like a padawan again. "People's lives are at stake! Every action has consequences, no matter how small or insignificant they seem—and even the smallest choice has the potential for harm." He raised his head, looking down on her. "The Mandalorian Wars was proof of this. Intentions mean nothing if a greater tragedy is caused."

"At every turn, I find Jedi who wish to debate the war with me—and you think I'm the one who could not let it go." Khara shook her head. "No. Your logic works both ways, Vrook. The Council's intentions were to assess the threat and figure out the best way to handle the situation, and in the meantime billions were dying. So when the Mandalorians conquered the galaxy and destroyed the Republic, your intentions for good would have meant _nothing_."

Vrook narrowed his gaze on her and his eyes were black slits. "Did you think rushing into battle did anything but bring more harm to the galaxy? It only served to bring about a second war, more dangerous than the first—"

"Yes, it saved billions of lives and preserved the Republic—" she said, talking over him.

"Countless Jedi died in both conflicts—" he continued over her.

"And countless more innocents were slaughtered—"

"And everyone who followed Revan and Malak died or were turned to the dark side." There was a moment of silence from both of them. "Except, conveniently, you."

It was the second time he had verbally slapped her and her hand almost went to her cheek. "You still think I'm a Sith…"

He sighed, finally tempered. "You were always difficult to read… as a padawan, and again at your trial—perhaps more so now that we are here on Dantooine." Vrook studied her for a moment, brow creased in concern. "If you want to prove yourself, then do so. Khoonda's in danger and they need our help. I'm sure you're apprised of the situation if you came barreling in here, blasters blazing."

"I know of it. I've been trying to help."

"And failing, by the looks of it."

"What right have you to judge my actions? Your plan buys time only, but the real problem remains!" Khara exclaimed.

"I haven't time to argue with you," he grunted. "I'm going to try to reach Administrator Adare. Time is of the essence."

Vrook immediately went running off and Khara whirled around to watch him go, chest heaving angrily. Her jaw clenched tight, fingers tightening on her blade. She was so incredibly sick of being their victim, of being their scapegoat. She was no Sith. And she was no longer a Jedi. But she did not need to be either to win battles and save lives. What she did need, however, was a lightsaber.

"Bao-Dur," she said suddenly.

"Yes, General?"

"I'm ready."

"Yes, General."


	9. Today, We Fight

**Today, We Fight**

Atton was pretty sure they were all going to die. They had made as many upgrades around Khoonda as they could, but really… what was one tiny estate against a small army of outfitted mercenaries? Mical had patched up the wounded soldiers and T3 had gotten all the battle droids back online. Atton had gone about jamming doors and fixing the faulty programming on the turrets while Bao-Dur had rigged the east and west entrances to the grounds with mines. Khara had found as many recruits as she could. Still. They were probably all going to die.

He folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the building at the main entrance with T3 parked near his feet and Bao-Dur looming a few feet away. Mical was in the medbay waiting for patients and Kreia meditated within, charged with guarding the administrator. The sky was bleak, all white and gray and impossible to tell the time, and a consistent breeze dropped the temperature several points. Battle was in the air. You could feel it.

Atton kept his eyes on Khara as she discussed the situation with Zherron. He watched her blond hair blowing in the breeze, her lips as she talked, her eyes as she listened to the militiaman. Then he looked at the faces of the gathering soldiers and how hopeless they were. He looked back at Khara and wondered if she could really pull this off. He wondered if he could get back to the ship before all hell broke loose. He wondered if he really wanted to. He wondered if maybe he could convince her to go with him, but knew the answer. And with that, he knew that today was the day he was probably going to die.

One of the young militia boys walked up to her and asked her something. She looked surprised, at first, and her eyes went to Zherron. He shrugged and said something then backed away. All of the militiamen gathered in front of her suddenly, as though she were their general. He kicked off the wall, curious. There was silence on the plain.

"Today," she began, her voice carrying over the wind like thunder, "the people of Dantooine make another stand in a long history of struggle and triumph. You have always had to fight for your place here! Fight the land, the beasts that scour these rough plains—and every time, you met your challenges with the fierce determination of any man or woman who says, 'This is _my_ home!'" Khara began pacing, the wind picking up her hair and the tail skirt of her armor. "Today, you will meet your enemy with the same determination! And you will triumph as you have again and again and again! Because this is _your_ home!" A shout went up among the soldiers. "And these mercenaries cannot have it!" Another shout. "This is your father's land!" Another. "The land of your sons!" Another. "And daughters!" Another. "This land is _your land_ and no one can take it from you!"

The soldiers roared, filling up the valley with courage. Atton stared, mouth slightly ajar, as she stood before the crowd. Her face was hard, determined, focused. He had been through many battles with her; he had seen anger bend her brow, sorrow flood her eyes, and joy tug at her lips. But she had never been so inspiring as she was standing in front of those soldiers. Her presence was commanding. Her power seemed unstoppable. It was almost terrifying.

"The General," Bao-Dur said. "She's come back."

Atton briefly glanced at the Zabrak before focusing on Khara again. Yeah, he could see it. This was General Khara Saar who led scores of Jedi and thousands of Republic soldiers to victory upon victory in the Mandalorian Wars. This was General Khara Saar who destroyed Malachor V to end the war.

A scout's kath horn sounded across the plain, warning the compound of the approaching army. A tremor of doubt ran through the collected militia. They all looked to her, every single one of them, for hope. Atton could see fear flickering across their faces once more. His heart was also beating hard, anxiousness worming in his gut. This was it.

"I won't lie to you," Khara said, and they hung on her every word. All of them. "Your enemy is well-armored, well-armed, and well-aimed. They shoot to kill—it is their way of life. But you are not defenseless. You have been trained for this moment. Your blasters shoot the same. Your armor is just as strong. And you are not bound by the thin vows of greed. You have something more dangerous in your arsenal than any of those mercenaries could hope to wield!" She stepped up, her hand rising in a fist. "You have something worthy of protection! Something worth dying for! For land, for family—today all paths converge!" Her lightsaber was in her hand then. A cyan beam blazed brightly as she cut through the crowd, and they immediately parted for her. "And if today we die defending it, then today I die with you!"

Her lightsaber rolled over her knuckles as she dropped into a combat stance, and the whole of the militia cried out for battle. The mercenaries could be seen coming over the bridge. Atton drew his pistols and stepped up next to her. If he was going to die today, he was going to do it at her side.


	10. Five Words

**Five Words**

The sky was dark as they loaded the last of their resupply onto the Ebon Hawk. The threat of rain rumbled overhead. Kreia was already on board, probably meditating in the starboard quarters. Bao-Dur and Mical each heaved a box and carried it on. T3 rolled up the ramp as thunder growled in the distance. Atton stopped before boarding and looked back, waiting for Khara.

Master Vrook approached her through the haze of the coming storm. He put his hand on her shoulder. "I may have misjudged you," he said. And then he turned around and left as quickly and quietly as he'd come.

Khara's lips formed the tiniest hint of a smile when she met his eyes. They were just five words, noncommittal and spoken without emotion, but they were enough. Atton reached out to her and she came. He readjusted the heavy sack slung over his shoulder as she boarded. He followed her and the door sealed closed behind them. That day, there had been a great victory for the people of Dantooine, and a small one for an ex-Jedi.


	11. Set

**Set**

On his way to the garage, Atton noticed Khara and Mical were back in the cargo hold, now officially dubbed "the training room". She was instructing him on one of the lightsaber forms, both wielding vibroblades to practice with, while Visas silently stood to the side. Mical laughed at something she had said, bashfully muttering about something or other. It made Atton nauseous.

He crossed into the garage and found Bao-Dur tinkering at the workbench.

"Got a minute?" he asked. The Zabrak stared at him for a moment, as if measuring his importance, and then went back to whatever he was tinkering with.

"I'm a little busy here," he replied. "What is it?"

Atton shrugged. "Won't take more than a minute."

"All right. I'll work while you talk."

"Look, your friend," he began awkwardly, leaning against the wall as casually as he could manage. He didn't know why he didn't use her name, but referring to her so impersonally made him feel slightly less stupid for asking. "You know her from way back, don't you? How much do you know about her, really?"

Bao-Dur looked up thoughtfully. "Her? You mean the General? Yeah, during the war, if that's what you mean by way back." He shrugged. "Can't say I know too much about her, though."

"Better than anyone else on this ship."

Bao-Dur pushed his goggles up to his forehead and looked at Atton thoughtfully. Then, he watched T3 come rolling into the garage. "I don't know about that," he mused, then pulled on his goggles and went back to work.

"Just give me your opinion, okay?" he said, annoyed, and looked everywhere but at the Zabrak. "And don't laugh."

"I'm trying to work here, Atton…"

"I was just wondering if you thought, maybe, she and I might…" He trailed off and Bao-Dur raised his head, stopping what he was doing.

"You're being serious," he muttered.

"You said you wouldn't laugh!"

"You _are_ being serious. Atton," Bao-Dur pulled his goggles back up and turned to face him, "she was a general. I was just a tech. Your guess is about as good as mine."

The two men squared off, staring at one another as Atton processed what he was being told. Even T3 was staring at them, blue eye looking from one to the other.

"Well, what's your guess then?" Atton finally asked. Bao-Dur tugged his goggles down.

"I'm getting back to work," he said.

"Hey! I'm being serious here."

T3 beeped out a guess of his own. Atton didn't quite catch the full meaning, but he was pretty sure the droid was making fun of him.

"_You're_ laughing at me?" he balked. "I'll put you on the scrap heap, you walking tin can!"

T3 protested in a series of deets as Atton stormed back to the cockpit. He slumped into the chair and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. His first thought was of her standing on the battlefield of Dantooine, the wind tugging at her hair and her lightsaber shining brightly in the dim light. He thought next of Kreia's words when she had discovered the truth about him, and he remembered how he had begged her not to tell Khara. Looking back on everything that had happened, he was positive there was no way she could ever know. She kept saying, "I'm no longer a Jedi" but everywhere she went, she behaved as nobly as all the Jedi in the stories had—the ones he had been positive never existed up until he met her.

Atton sighed and focused on her on that field in his memory. Before he knew it, they were back on Peragus, and she was standing there in her underwear, dripping wet. His breathing got a little deeper as he reexamined her curves in that skin-tight, see-through suit. And then memory blurred with imagination, and he was putting his hands on her, on her curvy hips and slim waist, backing her against the wall. And just before he could kiss her, someone bounded into the cockpit.

"Atton," Khara began, startling him so much that he nearly flipped out of his chair.

"Kay," he said, clearing his throat and hoping she couldn't see his lap. "What's up?"

"Are you okay?" she asked him, eyeing him warily.

"I'm fine," he replied, waving her concern away with his hand. "You need something? I thought you were busy training Blondie on how not to stab himself with a lightsaber."

She smiled—a quirky little grin he'd only see her wear whenever he made a joke. He loved it.

"I needed a break," she admitted.

"And so you came to me. I'm flattered." He stood up and walked around his chair. "Though I can't say what I have in mind won't work you twice as hard."

She chuckled, plopped into the opposing chair, and held up the pazaak side deck he'd let her hold onto. He shrugged and sat down again.

"Okay," he said, "but I think the other thing would be more fun."

"How far out are we from Nar Shaddaa?" she asked as he shuffled and dealt.

"A couple days," he replied. "We'll be there in no time."

"Are you excited?"

He glanced up from his side deck as she took a swig of water. "About?"

"Nar Shaddaa." She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "It just seems more your speed."

"Better than Dantooine," he admitted as she took another gulp. "But like I said, I'm with you for the long haul. So don't get any bright ideas like I might be running off or anything. I have no intention of letting you out of my sight." He shrugged when she didn't say anything. "It's a rough place," he explained. "And you're a magnet for trouble."

"Yeah," she said with a sigh, pulling her knees up into the chair and resting her chin in the valley between them as she examined her side deck. Atton thought it was adorable. "It's a wonder you all are still here."

"Can I ask you something?" he asked as he drew his first card. 8.

"Shoot," she replied, flipping hers. 2.

"Do you still follow the Jedi Code?" He flipped another card. 1. "What I mean is, from what I understand, emotions are forbidden. Right? You can't fall in love, you can't get angry… But I've seen you angry."

"It's not that I don't think about the code anymore," she admitted and flipped. 10. "During my exile, I had time to think about a lot of things." He flipped. 6. "I think when one allows their emotions to rule them, they become like the Sith and easily lose themselves to darkness. However, when one attempts to completely excise emotion from their life, as the Jedi preach with the Code, they are the weaker for it." She flipped. 9. "You know the Code, right? There is no emotion, there is—"

"—is peace, yeah. I know it."

"One of the earliest forms of the Code went a little differently," she said, staring at her side deck. She plucked a card. "It said 'Emotion, yet peace.' Because there is emotion and we cannot escape it, but we can still find peace." She laid a -1. Sum 20. "That makes more sense, don't you think? That's the Code that I follow now."

Atton considered this as he drew another card. 3. He checked his hand for a 2 but there wasn't one. "So you accept emotion?" he asked as he reached to draw another card.

"I have been trained all my life not to," she confessed as he flipped over a 7. "But in my exile, I have been trying to let go of that kind of rigid thinking." He played a -6. "I don't really know," she continued as he flipped again, "if I've been successful. When faced with emotion, it's hard not to think of the Code." The card was 2. Sum 21. She looked surprised. "Ah, I won."

Her words were ringing between Atton's ears. _I've been trying to let go of that rigid thinking._ There was hope after all. He rubbed his sweaty palm on his pant leg.

"Set's yours, Kay."


	12. Dancing For Vogga

**Dancing For Vogga**

Khara Saar stood near the cantina bar, eyeing the rutian Twi'lek auditioning dancers from over Mical's shoulder as Atton talked with a few aliens in the corner of the cantina. When he began heading back in their direction, her green eyes cut up to his hazel ones and, for a moment, she felt the usual tingle of warmth she got whenever she looked at him. Her gaze bounced from Atton's to Mical's baby blues. She'd hesitated bringing him along since Nar Shaddaa was not known for its kindness to the innocent or naïve, and the Disciple struck her as being gross amounts of both. Considering the alternatives, however, did nothing to aid her in refusing him when he asked to accompany her; Bao-Dur was neck deep in repairs, HK-47 was itching to "assassinate some meatbags", Visas swept alongside her more like a bodyguard than a companion, and Kreia had preferred to stay on the ship and commune through the Force rather than hobble through the rough crowds—not that the old bat couldn't handle it, by any means, but Khara endeavored to believe it was because her mentor was, frankly, an old woman.

Khara's eyes drifted down to T3-M4 for a moment and was grateful he was present. Mical would defend her, true, and Atton was as streetwise as any she could hope to guide her, but the droid was ruled with a quarky sense of logic and perception. Somehow, he always seemed to be thinking what she was thinking. Khara smiled to herself as she realized that her best friend was probably a droid.

"What did you learn?" she asked Atton when he returned.

"It seems Goto's been screwing Vogga the Hutt's business in one too many ways," Atton replied. "Getting an audience with him won't be easy. If he doesn't like what we have to say, he's likely to sic his hounds on us—you know, if he doesn't have his guards reinvent our existence with blasters first."

"Hounds?" Mical asked.

"Along with scantily clad Twi'leks and amoral bounty hunters, it seems Vogga keeps two kath hounds as pets," Atton told him and then turned his attention back to Khara. "But it's not just small-time like us that can't get an audience. Vogga's anger and paranoia has reached an all-time high. He's keeping everyone locked out."

"Not everyone," Khara replied, eyeing the male Twi'lek again as he barked angrily at several female dancers. Atton intercepted her meaning and twisted at the waist, catching a glimpse of the failed auditions. He whirled back to face her.

"Good eye," he said in a tone that almost made her believe he was genuinely congratulating her. "There's only one problem: who do we know that can dance? Cause I don't think Blondie here is Vogga's type," and he nodded at Mical, who seemed to not understand what the scoundrel was talking about.

"Deet, deet, beep!" T3 beeped at their feet.

"Good idea," Atton said sarcastically. "Let's ask the blind zealot."

"I couldn't ask Visas to do this," Khara interjected. "She has been through too much."

"Yeah? Did you have someone else in mind?" Atton retorted. "The only other female we have on board is Kreia. But hey, why not? She's about as wrinkly as Vogga—it'll probably appeal to him."

"Atton," Khara warned only half-serious. He just shrugged his hands up in surrender.

"Don't blame me for finding the flaws in your blaster-proof plan."

"Well, she isn't the only other female," Mical pointed out innocently. "Khara is female."

Atton eyed him annoyed, as if one more dumb comment was all it would take for him to start exacting punishment. Mical, once more, was oblivious to his error.

"Right, and you're gonna ask Kay to throw on a metal thong and jiggle her ass for a Hutt?"

Mical blushed. "No! I… Oh, I see your point."

"Exactly…" he muttered.

"Deet, deeeet, boop!"

"Shut up," Atton snapped at T3, "or I'll sell you to Kodin."

Khara placed one hand on T3's head and the other on Atton's arm to diffuse the situation. She felt his muscles tense for a split second at her touch but it was almost instinctive, like blinking; it was an energy flux in space—something he flew over without even acknowledging. T3, on the other hand, made an affectionate whirr. She enjoyed the warmth that emanated from his metal frame. Khara appreciated that aspect of droids; space was cold, but droids were always warm from the constant whirring of bits of machinery and the active power cells. During the war, she often disappeared in the maintenance bays during rest hours to curl up with the astrodroids; some nights, it was the only way she could sleep.

"I'll do it," she said and withdrew her hands.

...

"What?" Atton and Mical exclaimed together. Atton glanced over at the Disciple with a disgusted look on his face, horrified that he had—for even a second—been on the same wavelength that Mical had; he quickly recovered with the more overwhelming shock at hand.

"Dwoooo," T3 droned.

"Hold on," Atton began, touching his forehead wrinkled by a frown. "You? Not that the idea isn't without its merit, but can you even dance? I don't mean to doubt you—and after Peragus, well, I'm more than willing to give it a go—but unless you enlightened yourself in some spaceport cantinas during your exile, we might be better off sending Blondie here."

"Atton," Khara began, and the way she said his name made him flinch inside; it was her disarming voice—the one that told him she required his trust. "You've watched me fight. You've seen the forms of combat I've learned. They're elegant. They're artful. With a little modification, I'm sure they'll pass for an exotic dance."

"You're… actually willing to put yourself in such a… compromising position and… use your own body to… incite certain…" Mical began, having trouble finding the right words to delicately describe the level of vulgarity he considered to be the present situation. Atton wanted to kick him in the head.

"This is for Telos," Khara gently reminded him. "Vogga the Hutt controls the fuel sources around here. If we can convince him to ship to Telos, a whole planet will be saved."

"Yes, of course," Mical readily agreed. "A Jedi's life is sacrifice."

Atton mentally rolled his eyes at that one and, instead, focused hard on the woman before him. He just kept wondering how he could agree to this without sounding like a pervert. Deep inside, he knew this could save Telos from ruin, but he wasn't very in touch with deep inside himself; he was more in touch with the shallow Atton, and the shallow Atton had stopped thinking about anything else but Khara's athletic body swaying in a sexy little bikini.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked, not trying especially hard to hide his grin. He sensed the flicker of nervousness in her—a tiny vibration so small, so quick that it was almost unnoticeable—when he smirked at her; it gave him a sense of satisfaction he'd come to know well since Peragus, since he'd met her.

"Of course," she replied. "Can you get me an audition?"

"I can do better than that," he replied and took her hand, jerking her closer. "You," he pointed at Mical, "stay here. You'll only tip him off."

The Disciple pretended not to notice Atton holding her hand but he was terrible at hiding his feelings. Atton could read the discomfort on his face like he read hyperspace routes. Now entirely satisfied, he tugged Khara closer and lead her over to the Twi'lek, feeling even more encouraged as the rutian-colored male angrily shooed all of the others auditioning away.

"No, no, no! That won't do at all! Where did you learn to dance, girl?" he exclaimed in his native tongue to the yellow-skinned Twi'lek trying her hardest to land the job. "Do you realize the insult your stumbling would be to Vogga? Get out of here. I have no use for an uncoordinated dancer with the appeal of a drunk rancor."

_Ouch,_ Atton thought. In all honesty, the girl did need some work but she wasn't as bad as all that. He threw a quick glance at Khara, wondering if she really could pull it off. Her face was set in an assembly of determined lines. That wouldn't do—she was too stiff. He leaned down and put his lips to her ear.

"Relax," he whispered, and he heard her breath hitch in her throat. "We're selling your sex appeal here, not your meditation talent."

He nipped at her ear to put a little more blush in her cheeks and, when he leaned away, he was glad to see it had worked. Her whole face had softened up considerably and had flushed a soft pink. He stopped walking and turned to her.

"That's better," he mused. "Open up the collar of that jacket a little more."

"Atton…" she mumbled, and he knew she was preparing a defense.

"Your neck," he interrupted her. "It's to show off your neck. You have a long, slender neck and it compliments your athleticism with a sense of grace." Damn, he actually sounded like he knew what he was talking about. Excellent. "He's got a trained eye, Kay, he'll be looking for these things."

She nodded and unbuttoned the top of her shirt then pulled her jacket over her shoulders. He gave her the casual thumbs up like he was only doing it for the sake of the mission—yeah right—and took her hand again, leading her the rest of the way to the Twi'lek.

"Your search is over!" Atton declared as they approached. The male turned to them and immediately began sizing Khara up.

"Oh?" he retorted, more curious than skeptical.

"You're looking for new dancers, right?"

"My Master, Vogga the Hutt, is searching for new entertainment," he confirmed. "He grew tired of his previous girls, and asked that I should find him the best dancer on the Smuggler's Moon to perform for him." The way he explained it sounded like he was utterly exhausted by the task. "But as you can see, I do not think the 'best' of the Smuggler's Moon would do much for one with as refined tastes as the great Vogga."

"Uh huh." Atton crossed his arms over his chest and nodded as though he truly understood the poor man's plight.

"Vogga will be furious if I cannot find new entertainment for him," he went on. "His last dancer was a relation of mine, and thus he placed much of his displeasure upon my shoulders."

"Consider that burden lifted, my friend," Atton declared, clamping his hand on his shoulder. He motioned to Khara. "This young woman is the answer to your troubles—and to Vogga's desperate pleasures."

"This one?" the male asked, eyeing her more closely. "She seems… capable."

...

Khara tried her best to look experienced as Atton had instructed her, tuning out his long speech about her fabricated experience dancing for other Hutts and in various cantinas across the galaxy. She was too busy trying to calm herself. Atton's little attempt to relax her had done the exact opposite: it had made her furiously nervous. It wasn't that she had been relaxed before he made his move; she had been focused. Now, she was a jumbled ball of nerves and it had nothing to do with this ridiculous audition.

An emotion she had never felt before had sparked inside of her when she'd met Atton. At first, it was just heat—heat she had mistaken for one of the many fluxes of the Force and reconnecting to it, heat that she had pretended was a result of battle. But it was not that kind of heat at all, and whenever he was near her, her peace was somehow disrupted. It wasn't an unwelcomed disruption, however, but something that drove hard at her curiosity, made her seek it out. It had taken Khara long hours of meditation spanned over their months of traveling together to reestablish a firm hold on her focus, but the feeling was still there.

Atton suddenly turned to her and smiled. "Ready to show him what you can do?" he asked.

Khara nodded and stepped back, took a deep breath, and slowly bent into the elegant stance of the Soresu form. In swift and graceful movements, she demonstrated the most basic motions, substituting lightsaber swings with hand flair. After just a few moments, the Twi'lek began chuckling.

"This is something I have never seen before. It's open and fluid. A little… harsh, like a fighter more than a dancer, but it is exciting." The Twi'lek nodded to Atton. "Let us see how much she pleases Vogga." And then he reached back and gathered up a bag then handed it to Atton as Khara relaxed out of the form and smoothed her clothes back over her body. "Have her wear this."

Her head snapped up as he took the package and they swapped the details of her assignment. _Wear?_ Khara started toward them to discover the true nature of what she had just signed up to do but Atton hooked his arm around her waist and spun her around.

"Congratulations, Jedi," he muttered, amused. "You're an official dancer for Vogga the Hutt."

/

Back on the _Ebon Hawk_, Khara waited until her companions were busy with their own work or leisure to begin her determined practice. She pushed her black hair away from her face and tied it into a ponytail, tugged a cotton shirt over her halter, and then pulled on comfortable pants. Her clothes were mismatched shades of gray, giving her the sense of blending into the ship. Given her task, even a false sense of stealth eased her mind.

"Going somewhere?" Kreia asked as she moved to leave the starboard dormitory. Khara glanced back at her.

"You know I am, Kreia. I want to be prepared for Vogga. Telos depends on it."

"Yes," she agreed, mumbling as though it pained her to do so. "That is not the action I disapprove of. You're going to seek that fool's advice."

"He can help me soften my movements."

"And what else?" she crooned.

Khara sighed and walked away, refusing to get into another banter concerning Atton. She was at her limit hearing them bicker about one another. She shook the thoughts out of her head and cut through the hallways to the cockpit where Atton was perched in the pilot's chair, feet on the console, staring at a star chart.

"Not like we're taking off any time soon," she began as she entered the room. "I don't know why you insist on camping out in here."

"Just in case," he replied, dropping the star chart and swinging around to look at her. "What's the occasion?"

"I'd like your help, Atton."

"Oh yeah?" he asked with a smirk. "Well, since you asked so nicely… what can I do for you?"

"You heard the Twi'lek," she said. "I move like a fighter, not a dancer. I was hoping you could give me a few tips on how to make my movements more… sensual."

"On how to sell your sex appeal," he surmised, still smirking. "I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but I don't know the first thing about dancing."

"But you do know what you like, what looks good and what doesn't. You're a man. You've gawked at a lot of Twi'lek in your time," she teased. "So that makes you the expert."

"First a man, now an expert?" His gaze sensually scanned her body. "Kay, I think you're starting to like me."

Khara shrugged playfully and tried not to acknowledge the flirtation. He got up from his chair and followed her down the corridor into the cargo hold.

"This should be interesting…" he mumbled as he relaxed back on a plasteel container and crossed his arms over his chest.

Khara took a deep breath and sunk into the Soresu form, repeating the performance she had given to the Twi'lek earlier, waiting for him to interject his opinion, but it never came. She paused mid-pose and glanced over at him expectantly.

"What?" he asked.

"You're supposed to be advising me," she told him.

"What, like… literally?"

"How else?"

He lifted his hands defensively. "You won't take it the wrong way, right?"

"Atton, this is important!"

"Right, right." He moved toward her. "Just making sure I won't get lightsabered in half for trying to help." He cleared his throat when she flashed him an annoyed expression. "First things first, you want to be sexy. Vogga isn't looking for art so much as he is something erotic. You need to move your hips and waist and, well, this whole region here." He motioned to her chest. "You know, rotate, wiggle—whatever it is you women do."

Khara exhaled a hot breath and stood up straight, brushing stray hair from her forehead as she prepared to practice what he was talking about. She held her arms out at her sides and slowly began rotating her hips, working in belly movements as she imagined them to look after having glimpsed a few dancers at work in various cantinas. She checked Atton's eyes, which were gazing appreciatively at her stomach.

"Just like that," he encouraged, grinning at her.

So she sunk back into the Soresu form and started over, trying to work in more hip movements. Atton approached her, lightly touching her arms to get her to pause in her current pose: one knee crouched, the other leg swept out, and her arms raised in an overhead block.

"You need more than just swaying on the turns. Instead of keeping your body so straight here, try dipping to the side…" He hesitated when he touched her side, keeping his eyes locked on hers as his hand drifted up just below her arm. He pressed into her skin, guiding her top half to her right, into her stretched out leg. "And then… back…" His hands both gently gripped her ribcage, swinging her in slow-motion. "And then let's move into the next step," he said quietly, hands still on her ribcage.

He moved with her as she stepped into the next pose, directing the next addition to her repertoire. He followed her through two more steps until he felt she'd effectively understood what he wanted her to do and then he stepped back.

"Try that," Atton said, returning to spectator mode.

Khara cleared her throat and started at the beginning, utilizing the tips and incorporating them into every step she could. She was glad she had that to focus on, because his hands on her body had indefinitely disrupted her peace.

"Any better?" she asked.

"More," he encouraged. "Make the movements bigger."

So she did it again, and again, until he had nothing to complain about. The second stance she adopted was Ataru, already including the modified motions as she showed it to him. A dark look crossed his face and he came closer, causing her heart to flutter. She had to think of the Code just to keep her mind from fogging up.

"You're learning. Not bad for a Jedi," he said, then added, "_Ex_-Jedi," when she gave him a look. Atton stood behind her and placed his hands on her hips. "Roll them more," he told her, and so she tried; as she did, his hands moved with her, forcing the movement to be bigger. "Just like that. And when you drop to your knees, roll your body—starting in the hips—let it ride up through your body. Here, lean into me. Try it."

Khara took a deep breath and hoped he didn't hear how shaky it was. Her heart was pounding and her body was hot. _Emotion, yet peace. Emotion, yet peace. Emotion, yet hands… hands on my peace… on my hips… Passion, yet serenity, yet passion, yet breath, on my neck._ It was all jumbled in her head, replaced by Atton's proximity to her and his sensual voice.

She tried the motion without dropping to her knees, just to see if she could actually do it, and leaned back against him as he had instructed. Perhaps if he hadn't been so close, this step would've been easy to grasp. Perhaps, asking him had been a bad idea.

But as she leaned back into him, Khara realized that droids were not the only beings in space with a ridiculous internal temperature. Atton's body wasn't warm; it was hot. So hot. And it felt good.

"Relax," he whispered in her ear, flattening one palm on her pelvis. "Relax… Try again. Slowly." And he pressed down. "Now push up. Good, like that." His hand slid up her stomach, slipping into her shirt. She felt his rough calluses on her skin, and his lips on her ear, his breath on her neck—it was more than she could take.

"Atton—" Khara began, feeling very sure he had crossed the line between being helpful and trying to seduce her.

...

Atton thought he was going to go crazy—or he already had and that's why he was pushing her like this, pushing his luck so severely. But he couldn't help it. She was asking for it—quite literally, she'd come to him for help, gave him permission to instruct her. It wasn't his fault that doing so had triggered the uncontrollable desire in him.

She was gorgeous and the way she moved was intoxicating. He'd had his fill of cantina girls going through the same old motions, but this was a blend of warrior prowess and feminine seduction and the end result was erotic as hell. How could she expect him to keep his hands off of her?

When her nervous warning via his name came, Atton told himself he had to stop—he had to get himself under control. He had to let her go and play it off as a joke. He had to turn back before he made the situation irreversible. He had to stop. He had to kiss her.

Atton gripped her waist and whirled her to face him, crushing his lips against hers. His palms slid up her sides, pushing inside her shirt, and then he pulled her to him, holding her against his body as he leaned into her. Her sudden moan nearly shredded his last mental conviction; the satisfaction of forcing that moan out of her nearly drove him over the edge—knowing she was instinctively fighting the emotion with every fiber of her Jedi-trained being but that he had still been able to kiss her hard enough, good enough that her body declared, on its own, its personal pleasure at the situation. It was utterly gratifying, and it made him hard. Force, did he want her.

And by now, it was impossible to hide. With their bodies mashed together like that, she was sure to feel just how much he wanted her pressing into her pelvis. But the last thread of self-preservation left in his head reminded him that he was already in big trouble and that proceeding into ripping her clothes off was a bad idea, so Atton broke the kiss, loosened his grip, and waited for her to jerk out of his arms. It took less than a second.

"Sorry, Kay, I had a flashback and got a little carried away. Your fault for learning so fast." He tried his most charming grin. "No hard feelings?"

Her thoughts were impossible to read from her expression. At first, she looked flustered and then almost… wounded. Then it quickly disappeared, replaced by realization and then… something—self-reproach?—before it ended in blank acknowledgment. But when he looked down at the hand clutching her shirt down over her stomach, her knuckles were white, betraying her internal tension.

He had expected her to chastise him, slap him across the face, or simply run away, but she did none of these things. She just stared, like she wasn't sure how to react. She had told him that in times of extreme emotion, she instinctively went back to the Code, and yet… Wait, wait. Was she really grasping at the Code and failing?

_Uh oh,_ Atton thought. Perhaps that lie about a flashback was a bad idea after all.

He reached out to her, wanting to apologize, to take it back—to explain—but Khara stepped back.

"I cannot force you to respect the Code," she said hollowly. "I cannot demand you respect me—as an ex-Jedi, not even as a woman. I had thought that all we had been through together had been enough to earn me at least some regard. As friends, even. You've stood by me, protected me, fought _with_ me and _for_ me. So I trusted you and respected you, your skills and experiences. It's made you into a fine man, Atton… I think I've treated you honorably.

"So I hope that in the future, you can understand just the kind of sacrifice a Jedi makes when they swear their life to the Order. Just because I no longer consider myself a Jedi does not mean that it isn't difficult to forsake the vows I once swore; just because I said I was trying to break away from the rigid thinking of Jedi teachings does not mean I can easily forget how I once immersed myself in the Code, into denying emotion. And it does not mean I feel any less than any other. Perhaps more so since I am only just experiencing all of these feelings… in all of their intensity… and that it's just as much of a challenge to control them, to understand them… So I hope you can respect that and restrain yourself the next time you feel you're about to get carried away with some memory."

Atton just stared at her in shock. The hollow tone and the blank expression did nothing to hide her meaning. Was she telling him she was attracted to him too and that she was struggling just as much as he was? If so, he had successfully managed to screw up the greatest chance he ever had by pretending the only reason he'd come on to her was a flashback. Atton could really kick himself in the head right then and, had he been physically able, he would've.

"Kay," he began, reaching for her again, but she turned away from him.

"I need to be alone. Thank you for your help."

And she left him in the cargo bay. Atton gawked at the place where she had stood only moments before, trying hard to wrap his mind around everything that had just happened. He couldn't believe it. He didn't want to believe it. How did they go from joking in the cockpit to hot-n-bothered tension while he critiqued her dancing to being reprimanded in the worst way possible and then left standing alone?

Atton kicked the plasteel container and punched the wall.

"Shit…" he muttered, suddenly feeling one-hundred percent worse about being him.

...

Khara broke into a run the moment she had cleared Atton's line-of-sight and sprinted down to the hyperdrive where T3 was busy buzzing amidst the internal workings. She shut herself in as he rotated to face her.

"Deet?"

"Sorry for interrupting your work, T3," she said, collapsing next to him. She huddled next to him, enjoying the warmth to her suddenly cold body. He beeped. "Thanks… I appreciate it." More beeping. "I'm fine," she assured him, closing her eyes. "I just need to be alone for awhile."

"Deet?"

"No, not you, T3. I just need to be away from people—that's what I meant."

"Dwoooo."

Khara smiled briefly and faded into the quiet. She wished they were flying—wished for the lull of the hyperdrive and engines. Kissing Atton had been so exciting, so warm, so mind-wiping, so natural. It had sent a thrilling jolt right up her stomach and into her heart, making it hammer like crazy in her chest. And then another jolt was sent back down, straight to her inner thighs, and she had been overwhelmed with a new kind of sensation. It frightened her as much as it intrigued her, so when he let her go, instinct pushed him away.

Oh, how she regretted it. She wondered how she could tell him that she didn't mean it. She wondered how to tell him that what he had done wasn't wrong. It had merely frightened her. For a moment, the Code had come screaming into her mind, the Jedi teachings hounded her, and Vrook's disapproving scowl had growled out the word "traitor". But the desire to keep kissing him—that was what remained when they were panting, staring at one another in the wake of passion.

But his words had wounded her deeply, had illogically made right all of the things she had been taught as a child. She lost the nerve to tell him what she was feeling. And so she had run. Fighting had always been simple; she was always focused, killed if she had to and stayed her hand when she could. Anger had been easy; she knew where it stemmed from, knew how to release it, and was capable of controlling it should it ever threaten to burn out of control. Camaraderie had been natural; leading Jedi and soldiers, working in teams, and befriending her allies created bonds of friendship. Her firm friendship with Revan had been accompanied with a deep love; this love had given her courage and strength. But that love was the kind she might have held for a brother.

The emotions she felt for Atton… they were none of the things she had experienced for herself and learned to temper, to control. Khara frowned and touched her forehead. The silence pressed in and her mind cleared and she was with the Force. She felt it, heard it, was part of it. And so was he.

/

The next day, Atton met Khara at the ramp. As arranged in their lie, he was her escort and agent, so he would be accompanying her on her little trip to Vogga's. He'd be the only one accompanying her. When she came around the corner from the dormitories, his heart stopped in his throat. Her hair was styled, make-up painted her face, and she wore a scandalous little gold and maroon bikini. She was beautiful—and a lot of other words he'd used to describe a sexy cantina dancer. Even with the tension of yesterday hanging over their heads, he couldn't help but gawk at her.

Khara cleared her throat, snapping him out of his thoughts, and began walking down the ramp. He followed after her in silence, a robe hanging over his arm. He looked at her ass swaying in that metal thong with the transparent skirt dangling from it then up to her exposed back. He bit his lip and hurried to catch up with her, dropping the robe across her shoulders. He leaned in.

"I do respect you, Kay," he whispered, and felt her flinch under his fingers. "And I'm sorry."

She gently pulled the folds of the robe across her chest. She didn't look at him, didn't say anything.

"At any rate, I wasn't lying," he said as they left the landing pad and reached the inner sector bustling with people. "I did have a flashback." He met her gaze when her eyes snapped up to look at him. "It's just it was of you, on Peragus, falling into my arms when that explosion hit, wearing nothing but your underwear."

Her whole face turned red with embarrassment. "Atton—" she exclaimed.

"What? Am I blind?" he gently pushed her along toward the docks. "Anyway, Kay, don't be mad. You knew the type of guy I was when you brought me on board—I kept no secrets about it. If you didn't want me to flirt with you, you should've dumped me when you had the chance. You didn't, though. You kept me on." He leaned down to whisper in her ear. "I think you secretly like it, Kay."

"Atton—" she began, but a Rodian bumped into her and instantly began squealing in his native tongue for her to watch where she was going. Atton grabbed the man by his shirt.

"Get lost, goggle-eyes!" he exclaimed and shoved the creature away. They could hear him cursing all the way down the dock tunnel. When they finally reached Vogga's, Atton stopped her before she went in. "Look, Jedi, General, ex-Jedi, exile—it's made you into a fine woman, Kay. I'd have to be crazy not to notice, right?" Atton felt frustrated. Maybe he was just digging himself a bigger hole. "What if I promise to keep my hands off you if you'll forgive me?"

She reached out and touched his shoulder. "Only make promises to me that you can keep, Atton, and I promise that your honesty will always be enough for me. I already forgave you." She started to turn away, stopped, and looked back with a grin. "But it was amusing to watch you flounder for a minute there."

"Hey!" he exclaimed, following her inside. "I was being genuine."

She smiled like she didn't believe it, and that was okay with him. She was smiling again, so he was smiling, too. They were escorted into Vogga's room, some pleasantries were exchanged, and Khara removed her cloak. The following hour of her dancing was the best hour of his life up to that point—especially when, in her turns, her eyes met his. It was almost like she was dancing for him, not the wrinkly, greaseball Hutt in front of her.

There, watching her twist and turn and rotate her hips in that skimpy little bikini, he promised her under his breath that one day she would dance for him, and she would be wearing nothing.


End file.
